


in the corner of summer

by clearlykero



Category: Free!
Genre: First Dates, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23083525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearlykero/pseuds/clearlykero
Summary: Sousuke’s life at university can be divided into a neat little pie chart, sectioned off into segments like clock hands tell the time. And then, of course, there's Natsuya, who frankly ruins everything.
Relationships: Kirishima Natsuya/Yamazaki Sousuke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	in the corner of summer

**Author's Note:**

> **co-written with mami and kt for MR1 of SASO 2017.** archiving 3 years later because i felt the sounatsu tag needed populating lol. 
> 
> this was of course written before season 3 AND before the TYM movie, so their canon dynamic is a little different from this... but i hope you enjoy nonetheless.

_ 15/05/20XX _

Life is full of obstacles — hopes; expectations; an extra-long line on half-off day at Ichibanya. A shoulder that just won’t heal, no matter how long he waits, watching everyone else speed off ahead of him. Sousuke has long since become familiar with the feel of the pool’s edge as he swims one lap after the other. He can’t leave until he’s finished; he won’t finish until he’s done. As he nears the end he lets himself tumble underwater, feet finding the tiled surface with practiced ease. He could rest — _one, two_ — but three is the danger zone, so he pushes off hard, cutting back through the path he just swam through. He's not done yet.

“You finished over there?”

Sousuke startles at the voice. Sounds usually fall soft when he’s concentrating, muffled by the water and the hazy ache coursing through his muscles, but this voice cuts sharp through it all, piercing but not unpleasant, like the whistle signalling the start of a race. “Almost,” he calls, touching down at last. He looks up to the big clock above. “Oh, it’s not closing time.”

“Nah,” the voice admits, startlingly close. Sousuke catches an eyeful of red spandex and then his gaze drifts up to the face accompanying it. “Thought you might be keen for a break. You’ve been at it for a while.”

“Kirishima-senpai.” Sousuke shakes his head at the hand extended to him. There’s only half an hour left until closing, and he still has to keep up with the long parade of projects and lectures that have followed him through to university. He shifts on his feet, glancing at the clock again. “I’ll pass, sorry.”

The hand retreats, but Kirishima loiters poolside, squatting down and hugging his knees. “Alright,” he says cheerfully. “Go on.”

Sousuke tries. As it turns out, Kirishima is frustratingly difficult to ignore. “Keep going,” he calls, clearer than any cheer team Sousuke’s ever had on the sidelines. “You’ve got this.”

“Shut up,” Sousuke murmurs sullenly into the water. He can’t concentrate; his muscles are all tense with anticipation, and it’s getting harder to ignore the burning ache in his thighs. By the time it’s actually closing, he’s exhausted.

Kirishima is starting to wind up the lane ropes when Sousuke steps out from the showers. The wheel flows like water under his hands, ropes winding smoothly around it. Kirishima swims the same way, Sousuke recalls vaguely. When everything’s been tidied up, Kirishima pats the thick bundle and straightens up again. “All done. Thanks for waiting.”

Sousuke hadn’t intended to wait. “No problem,” he mumbles automatically, blinking away the afterimage of Kirishima’s crouched figure. “I’m going now.”

“Off you go, then,” Kirishima laughs. “I’ll lock up.”

Sousuke nods, still feeling off-balance out of the water. _Strange_ , he thinks. There’s a twinge in his shoulder he can’t seem to shake, a bitter tang in his mouth that’s not from the chlorine. He wants to jump back in the pool and swim until it all drains away, until he forgets about how easily he veered off-track today.

He’d wave it off as a lapse in concentration, except that he spots Kirishima the next day, too, slipping into the gym area next to the pool. Sousuke looks away, but not before Kirishima catches him staring. “Hey,” he calls, lips curving wide. “Here to use the pool again?”

Sousuke nods in response. He feels Kirishima’s eyes on him all the way to the door, so it doesn’t surprise him when he lifts his head at the end of a lap some time later to see Kirishima beaming widely down at him, a towel thrown across his neck and his loose-fitting T-shirt sagging far too low to be considered decent by any standard. “What do you want?”

Kirishima holds out a hand. “Wanna get dinner?”

“Now?” asks Sousuke, perplexed. He shakes his head at Kirishima.

“You came around the same time as me, didn’t you?” Kirishima doesn’t seem fazed by the rejection. “I’m starving.”

“I see,” Sousuke says. “I’m staying until closing today. Sorry.”

Kirishima glances up at the clock. “You’ll think differently when you get hungry,” he decides. “You don’t mind if I stay and watch?”

Sousuke does, actually, but Kirishima is his senior and Sousuke already feels bad refusing his invitation twice in a row. He regrets his decision somewhat when he fumbles yet another turn due to Kirishima’s relentless cheering, but Sousuke considers that perhaps this is good training for competition after all. Kirishima is just another obstacle to endure, another over-loud spectator in the stands.

“Nice work,” Kirishima says when the clock strikes eight. “Sure you’re not hungry yet?”

Belatedly, Sousuke realises he should have shooed Kirishima off earlier. If he refuses now, he’ll have made Kirishima wait for no reason. _Rin is waiting too_ , a voice in his head whispers, but Rin is off in Australia at the moment, already beyond Sousuke’s reach. Kirishima is here.

Kirishima holds out a hand again, smiling. This time, Sousuke takes it.

_ 24/06/20XX _

It turns out that Sousuke is quite fond of fried food and curry, and after an evening or two he becomes reasonably fond of having Kirishima — Natsuya — as an accompaniment. He tells himself he can’t stay away from the pool too long, but as Natsuya often says, it’s important to keep up his energy levels too. So with that in mind, Sousuke is about to dig into his food when a sudden motion from Natsuya stops him.

Sousuke freezes, spoon an inch away from his rice, and looks at Natsuya, whose hands are outstretched and reaching for him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Aren’t you going to take a picture?” Natsuya asks, successfully grabbing Sousuke's spoon-hand and placing it firmly on the table.

Confused, Sousuke shakes his head slightly. “What for?”

“For memories? Don’t you take pictures?” Natsuya says, in a tone that implies this is the most obvious thing to do.

“Not of food. What’s the point?”

Sousuke swears he can hear Natsuya rolling his eyes despite not actually seeing it.

“I just told you, memories.” Natsuya bats his hands away from the utensils as he fusses them into a neat arrangement beside the plate of katsu curry. “There," he says, satisfied.

When Sousuke doesn’t move to take the picture, Natsuya furrows his brow. "Well?"

“I’m not taking a picture of my food, Kirishima-senpai.” Sousuke tells him.

“Come on! Don’t you want to remember us hanging out today?” Natsuya’s tone turns cajoling and his lips tip up into an almost blinding smile.

There’s an almost reflexive ‘no’ at something so sappy (so _Rin_ ) but instead Sousuke says, “How is taking a picture of curry going to do that?”

“Well, you’ll see the picture and you’ll remember when you ate it. Then you’ll remember you ate it with me. So you’ll remember us spending time together.” Natsuya finishes his explanation with a hurrying gesture. “Hurry up and take the photo before your food turns cold.”

He could just eat it now, Sousuke thinks. He’s not the type to do things like this. The only photos he even has on his phone are those of him with Rin and Gou, that one photo with the other guys from Iwatobi, and a couple of selfies with Kisumi (taken under duress, he tells everyone, despite the fact that he never deletes them).

But then he sees the expectant look on Natsuya's face and Sousuke feels something give. Taking a picture of his food this one time won’t hurt anyone and it’ll probably make Natsuya happy. Which hasn’t been a huge concern until recently, but Sousuke decides that now isn’t the time to dwell on it.

“Fine," he sighs, getting his phone out and taking the picture. “There. Done.”

Natsuya purses his lips, then neatly plucks the phone out of Sousuke's hand. “There’s a shadow in there," he says, critically.

Sousuke takes the phone back, rolling his eyes at Natsuya’s protests. “It’s fine.”

“It looks terrible.”

“It’s just food.”

“No, look, I’ll help.” Natsuya says as he gets up from his seat to walk behind Sousuke. He takes Sousuke’s phone, pulls up the camera, and returns it. “You make sure that your body isn’t over the curry when you take the picture, so _—_ ” Natsuya positions Sousuke’s hands over the curry, moving this way and that in search of the perfect angle only he can see. “Like this," he says, and pulls Sousuke back until his head is pressing against Natsuya's chest.

Sousuke feels his eyebrows rise as he does his best not to stiffen at the close proximity.

“What are you _—_ ”

“Now lean to the left a little.” Natsuya bends him in said direction and Sousuke isn’t sure if his quickening heartbeat is because of the embarrassment of being in such a ridiculous pose or the fact that Natsuya is close enough that Sousuke can feel his breath. “There you go. Now take the picture.”

The soft shutter sound from his phone signals a strange feeling of loss that Sousuke isn't sure what to do with _—_ hands no longer on his shoulders, a warmth no longer at his back; things he shouldn't be wishing for, and definitely not from his senior.

He pushes the feeling to the back of his mind and looks at the new photo instead, almost identical to the one from his earlier endeavor only without the glaring mar of a shadow.

Natsuya takes his seat with a huge grin. “See? Isn’t it better? You should post it online.”

That, however, is where Sousuke draws the line. Natsuya makes a token protest, but Sousuke won't budge. Despite that small loss, Natsuya keeps flashing him a triumphant grin through the rest of their meal, and while Sousuke makes exasperated noises he can't quite stifle the fondness.

_ 02/08/20XX _

The problem with Natsuya is that being with him feels a little too much like stepping into a warm bath at night; it takes an entire train ride to Maihama for Sousuke to realise just how deep he’s sunk. He stares at the tourists to their left and the giggling couple on their right and wonders far too late what he’s doing here on a Saturday morning when he’s three days behind on his training schedule.

The other problem is that Sousuke quite likes warm baths at night. A wink from Natsuya beside him and all resistance melts away — Natsuya waggles his phone suggestively and Sousuke breaks into a wry grin, almost toppling them both in his haste to swipe it before Natsuya can take yet another photo of Sousuke staring dumbly at the screen.

“Stop messing around in public,” Sousuke says. “The train’s about to stop.”

Natsuya trips over the platform getting off; Sousuke pulls him steady by the elbow. “Sorry,” Natsuya says, clapping Sousuke on the shoulder as he draws back, and Sousuke flinches at the touch, an instinctive response to a pain he usually forgets when he’s with Natsuya. He laughs it off, heart pounding faster in his chest, but Natsuya just pats him again, softer this time, and his hand lingers, oddly heavy, before he laughs and makes for the exit. “Hurry up, you slowpoke.”

Sousuke abandons him at the popcorn stand for that comment; he wanders around Fantasyland watching Cinderella get mobbed by a family of four children. By the time he finds his way back, Natsuya’s downed half the bucket by himself.

“You’re not getting any of this,” Natsuya announces, shovelling handfuls of popcorn down his throat. He sprays bits of buttered corn around as he speaks.

“Don’t eat with your mouth open,” Sousuke says. He glances around to make sure nobody else is watching this incredible display of childishness.

“I’m sorry,” says Natsuya, “but did _you_ wait forty-five minutes for an overpriced bucket of popcorn? No? Then you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Sousuke sighs. “I told you we didn’t need to get popcorn.”

“ _I_ wanted popcorn,” Natsuya argues, still chewing furiously with his mouth wide open. It’s really quite disgusting, so Sousuke reaches over and closes it for him. His thumb brushes the curve of Natsuya’s lower lip, all grainy and caked with salt. Sousuke licks his fingers clean when he pulls away.

“They always put too much on here,” he grumbles, and it’s only then that he registers Natsuya’s frozen posture. “What?”

Natsuya takes a moment to reply. It occurs to Sousuke that Natsuya might be genuinely upset about the popcorn, which is both absurd and just a little bit cute. “Wait here a moment,” he says, ruffling Natsuya’s hair roughly before jogging off to the nearby souvenir shop. He endures a gruelling ten minute line, wondering all over again how they’d ended up at Disneyland of all places, and stalks back to where Natsuya is sitting with arms folded, looking decidedly unimpressed.

“That’s twice now you’ve abandoned me—” he starts. Sousuke puts a hand over his mouth and uses his free hand to push the Mickey Mouse T-shirt he’d bought into Natsuya’s chest. “What are you doing,” Natsuya protests, when Sousuke releases him, and Sousuke promptly puts the hand back. He wishes there was a better way of shutting Natsuya up.

“I waited in line almost as long as you,” Sousuke says. Ten, forty-five; they’re kind of similar. “You have to wear it.” He shucks off his own shirt under Natsuya’s stare, reddening under the dawning realisation that his behaviour is completely senseless. “You’re allowed one photo.”

“Sure,” Natsuya agrees easily. He swipes his thumb across the screen and taps _record_. “We’re coming live to Yamazaki Sousuke, well-known Mickey Mouse fanatic. Yamazaki-san, when did you first realise you had the hots for a cartoon mouse — ”

“Okay,” says Sousuke, “firstly, you’re not allowed to do that, you cheat; delete that _right now_ —”

“Make me.”

Natsuya laughs, wild and carefree, twisting the phone screen around so they’re both reflected in the shot. He leans in, his hair tickling Sousuke’s cheek; Sousuke breathes in sea salt and thick caramel, rough notes turned soft at the ends. “You’re asking for it,” he warns. “Don’t come crying to me after.” Natsuya grins, striking a bold pose, but he’s so full of openings, always — Sousuke digs a knuckle into his side, wiggling his fingers so Natsuya yelps in shock, sliding his toe up Natsuya’s shin to elicit a shriek.

“Talk about unfair,” Natsuya gasps, grudgingly placing his phone down with the rest of their bags. “...And you still lose.” He throws his arm around Sousuke’s neck, holding him in place for the countdown, and the _three-two-one-click_ of the timer saves them both on Natsuya’s camera roll.

“I’m never going anywhere with you ever again,” Sousuke vows after, but he follows Natsuya anyway, from Critter Country to Tomorrowland, picking up colourful (overpriced) balloons and misshapen (overpriced) souvenir coins at every stop, jumping from one (overpriced) ride to the next all the way to sundown, when Natsuya finally points out the ride Sousuke’s been hoping to avoid all day.

“It’s too small for us,” Sousuke says, backing away from the teacup.

Natsuya laughs in his face. “Stop posturing. It says no height restrictions.”

When the music starts, Sousuke turns the wheel as fast as he can, hoping that if he makes Natsuya dizzy now he can avoid a repeat performance.

“You’re actually getting into it!” As Natsuya leans in to have a turn spinning them himself, Sousuke gives the wheel a particularly vicious tug, sending him tumbling out of his seat into Sousuke. Natsuya scrambles to right himself; Sousuke looks over to gloat — and the teacup really is too small for two grown men squeezed in on the same side.

Natsuya’s breath catches; they’re close enough that Sousuke can see his lashes tremble in the breeze. He’s not aware that he’s leaning in until the music interrupts them with a cheery cadence and Natsuya jolts back, head snapping around so he’s staring in the other direction. Sousuke’s hands are sweating as they disembark.

“We should probably head back soon,” Natsuya says quietly. He looks distracted, gaze flitting around the thinning crowd, and Sousuke swallows back the familiar sense of loss that shadows them back to the station, the frustration of a lap left half-finished.

_ 06/09/20XX _

There are things they still don’t mention to one another. Natsuya never tells Sousuke to stop, no matter how long he has to wait for him to leave the water, and Sousuke keeps quiet when he starts to understand that Natsuya’s unintentional distractions aren’t so unintentional after all.

 _Rin is waiting for you_ , the voice in his head chants. It’s the voice that keeps him in the pool, where he’s supposed to be. It carries him through the obstacles he can never put away for good, the times that stay static at a level that’s just not quite good enough.

But these days, more often than not, Natsuya will come spectate, just as Sousuke is starting to feel the true burn of a strained muscle. “Finished yet?” he’ll ask, and this is the voice that carried Sousuke out of the pool all the way to Disneyland, whole prefectures away from where he needs to be. Natsuya takes the lane ropes as Sousuke swims and widens them slowly, inch by inch, opening him up until he might as well paddle in the recreational area instead.

Sousuke doesn’t mention it. He thinks about it, though, staring at the calendar in his room at night. Life is full of obstacles: people; friendships; good intentions — Sousuke swims in the practice lanes for a reason.

“I think I’m eating out too much,” he says as they shiver outside the entrance to CoCo, and kicks himself for his weakness.

Natsuya raises an eyebrow. “Impossible,” he declares, assessing Sousuke’s body with a long stare that makes Sousuke restless somehow. “Never mind that,” he says finally, tugging Sousuke in by the sleeve. His cheeks are a little flushed from the cold. “C’mere.”

Sousuke goes.

Two plates of curry later, he feels courage gathering in him again. He’s about to raise the issue when Natsuya speaks up. “The problem with you,” Natsuya declares through a mouthful of chicken katsu, “is that you think too much for someone with your brain capacity.” He points his chopsticks at Sousuke. “In the first place, professional swimming isn’t everything.”

Sousuke goes still. He’d wanted to talk, but now that Natsuya’s started he wants nothing more than to stay within the boundaries they’d established for themselves. “What do you mean?”

Natsuya fixes him with a look. “You know what I mean.”

All the lines they’ve crossed snap back into place, splitting them into two separate lanes. “So you’re saying I should give up?” He should have never allowed Natsuya into the pool with him.

“It’s because you think that sort of stuff that you’re struggling.” Natsuya sighs. “Swimming isn’t an all-or-nothing sport.”

It sounds like the sort of thing people say to convince themselves they have _something_ , when they’re stuck swimming 25m in the local pool rather than full-length medleys. At the end of the day, there are those who jump and reach the water, like Rin, and then there are all the _almosts_ , blocked by whatever obstacle they couldn’t overcome. Sousuke looks at Natsuya now and begins to see the faint outline of whatever it was that stopped Natsuya.

It looks familiar enough to feel dangerous. “Don’t get in my way,” Sousuke snarls. He wants out, _now_ ; he wants to be back in the pool where he knows he’s right, where he has goggles to protect him from the sting of the chlorine and the water warps the voices yelling at him from above its surface.

“Come with me,” Natsuya insists, instead of replying. He takes Sousuke’s hand and pulls him gently towards the register. Sousuke has a protest on his tongue, but Natsuya plucks it from his lips before he can voice it, leading him out of the shop and towards the station; Sousuke scrambles to keep up, shouting words of protest that get lost in the wind before they can reach their intended destination.

“What are we doing?” Sousuke asks, as Natsuya kicks off his shoes and steps onto the sand. He’s still pent-up from all the frustrations he hasn’t had the opportunity to voice.

Natsuya squeezes Sousuke’s hand. “Humour me for now,” he says. “You can make this the last time, if you want.” His smile twists a little crooked at the edges, and Sousuke realises for the first time the implications of the decision he’d been trying to make. He’s been seeing Natsuya as an obstacle, but Natsuya is more than that. There’s no way he wouldn’t feel hurt by Sousuke trying to cut him out of his life.

Sousuke has always thought he’d pay any price if it meant he could swim in the same waters as Rin and Haru again. He’d thought it a given for any athlete — that a flash of gold would be worth breaking your body for. All this sort of thinking has given him is pain.

“Stop thinking,” Natsuya urges, squeezing his hand again. “I told you it doesn’t suit you.”

Sousuke looks at Natsuya, bathed in the setting sun, and the whole world glows gold behind. His hand moves of its own accord, searching his pockets for his phone.

Natsuya watches him, bemused. “What are you doing?”

Sousuke presses the button. The result is laughable; he’s never claimed to be a good photographer, but he gets the feeling that even the world’s best would have difficulty capturing how Natsuya looks right now. “For memories,” he says, thinking of curry, and warmth, and all the things he doesn’t want to lose.

“Let me see,” Natsuya says, pulling him close.

Sousuke shrugs. “It’s not very good. It’s hard to make someone like you look decent in photos.” He pats Natsuya on the head and gets a fistful of fingers crawling over his own in exchange.

“It’ll make a good memory anyway,” Natsuya declares with authority. He runs his hands through Sousuke’s hair once more for good measure, leaving it more artfully mussed than any sea breeze could. “You’ll see.”

Sousuke thinks he might be beginning to. Some obstacles are just rest stations; jumping out of a pool doesn’t mean you can’t get back in; lane dividers don’t run the whole way down. On a whim, he reaches out and shoves Natsuya hard, the warmth of his chest spreading through Sousuke’s hand. Natsuya gives a yelp of surprise, bringing Sousuke down too through their still-joined hands, and they fall with the call of the gulls in their ears.

Natsuya’s laughing, his head tipped up to the sky, to Sousuke. “You absolute jerk,” he huffs, shaking drops of seawater from his hair, and Sousuke closes the distance between them as naturally as he comes up for air in the water. He catches Natsuya’s gasp of surprise, flicks his tongue out to tastes the salt painted over Natsuya’s lips. He loses himself there in the feel of sand shifting between his toes and muscle rolling under his palm, slow waves of motion pressing against him, and Natsuya’s soft breaths mixing with his own.

Even when they part it doesn’t feel like it; Sousuke can’t see any end to the water swirling around their ankles and out to the horizon. There’s no lack of air in the skies above, but he still feels dizzy when he sits up again. “I don’t want just memories,” he says, unthinking — but maybe Natsuya was right about Sousuke being better off that way, because it sounds right when he says it.

“What else do you want?”

Sousuke imagines a whole future spiralling out from where they are, still coming into focus before them. He can’t tell yet how this will end, but he’s sure of this, at least —

They’re not done yet.


End file.
